


No Going Back

by Maddalia



Category: The Professionals
Genre: First Kiss, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-17
Updated: 2012-06-17
Packaged: 2017-11-07 22:55:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/436353
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maddalia/pseuds/Maddalia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Doyle's working late on a hot summer night, and thinking about where he wants his relationship with Bodie to go.</p>
            </blockquote>





	No Going Back

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Tea and Swiss Roll Weekly Obbo Challenge 141, at LiveJournal.

There'd been nights like this at the Yard. The heat seemed to permeate every molecule in the room, and the atmosphere was still and oppressive. Doyle was thankful for his cotton T-shirt and cords: at least he didn't have to wear those awful cheap polyester suits anymore. George Cowley didn't care what you wore to work, as long as you kept yourself clean and got the job done.

Excitement, they'd promised him, and he was trying not to feel too resentful that every second at CI5 wasn't an adrenaline rush. Three months active, and he'd been part of backup teams; he'd chased down terror suspects; he'd used his old drugs squad contacts to help bring in a group of East German terrorists who were trading coke for weapons. He'd narrowly escaped being blown up during an IRA bomb attack when he and three other recruits were seeing to the evacuation of an office block. But he'd also been on babysitting jobs for politicians who'd looked down on him; he'd guarded houses against villains who'd never turned up; he'd been stuck on all-night obbos with partners who, outside the genial atmosphere of the rest room or the pub, were various degrees of irritating.

The past two days had been his first solo assignment. It was mostly leg-work, and now there was a report to finish, and CI5 reports weren't quite the same as police ones. There were subtle yet important differences. So Doyle found himself alone in the building at nine-thirty at night, sweating over a pencil and paper, while the sun disappeared over the horizon and the rest of London had a good time. 

Doyle paused and stretched, arching his spine away from the hard back of the chair and flexing his hands above his head. There were grubby marks down the right side of the page where his sweaty hand had rested, collecting lead marks, as the report progressed. On the table was a polystyrene cup, half-filled with what passed for coffee at CI5. Doyle reached for it, took a sip, and made a face. Trust the one cold thing in the room to be the one thing that should have been hot.

Just a paragraph or two to go now, but the page looked so disgusting, and his writing was so bad, that Doyle thought he'd better type it up himself, rather than leave it to one of the girls. He was rather keen on one of them at the moment, and she was playing hard to get. Wouldn't do to give her another excuse not to go out with him.

There was pride too, of course. Women had called Doyle a lot of things, but 'slob' wasn't one of them.

Sometimes women just seemed like a complication in his life. He liked them, yes, needed them, perhaps. Physically, at least. But Doyle's tastes swung both ways, and he had wondered lately whether it wouldn't just be easier if …

 _That way madness lies,_ he told himself.

Apart from George Cowley, and a couple of the training staff, there was one man in CI5 whom Doyle really liked and respected. His name was Bodie. Just Bodie. He had a first name like everyone else, but he never used it. It was ironic -- in that genial atmosphere of pub and rest room, where other agents were at least tolerable to spend time with, Bodie was the irritating one. He got on Doyle's nerves every time they met. But when they worked together he was skilled and efficient, a powerhouse of strength and capability. He was ex-army and Doyle had expected him to be a bit dim, lacking in initiative; everyone knew the stereotypes. But Bodie was clever and funny and thought very much for himself. He was good-looking and arrogant and, publicly, he assumed the role of a frivolous, materialistic playboy. That had only very briefly fooled Doyle. Other recruits who'd worked with Bodie confirmed everything Doyle had thought about him on first impression, but after a night spent watching a corrupt foreign ambassador, Doyle had changed his mind. There was more to Bodie than people thought. 

For some reason, Bodie felt able to be himself around Doyle. So Doyle responded by being himself around Bodie. 

And they annoyed each other. They picked at each other's habits and foibles. They used their quick wits to insult each other as often as they made each other laugh. Their approaches to work were very different, because of their backgrounds. But they respected each other. Before they knew it, they were friends.

Perhaps the next part was inevitable. Doyle had not been actively bisexual for years, not since his promotion to detective. But his boss seemed to know everything. It was noted in his file, insurance against blackmail, Cowley said. Bodie, being Bodie, had managed to get a look at both his own file and Doyle's, shortly after they'd first met. He made it sound like it was a compliment rather than an invasion of privacy. Doyle was worth knowing, therefore worth knowing _about_. Bodie hadn't said anything about the "note" at the time, but Doyle knew it was coming. And the next time they were alone on obbo duty, it did.

  
* * * * *

_'So, erm -- you're bi?' Bodie asked._

_Doyle clenched his teeth. He wanted to be anywhere,_ with _anyone, except here, sitting next to a beautiful straight man whom he wanted as a friend._

_'What if I am?' he snapped. 'You don't have to worry,_ mate _, I won't …'_

_'I'm not worried.' Bodie pointed at his own file. 'Doesn't say it in there, so don't go spreading it around, but as it happens -- so'm I.'_

* * * * *

Doyle still remembered the look in Bodie's eyes when he'd said that. Conspiratorial, like a kid sharing a secret: thrilled and slightly mischievous, with a hint of new intimacy, a bond of shared knowledge. There'd been no immediate proposition, on either side. But the first time they'd been in a firefight together …

  
* * * * *

_They were crouched behind a wall, gunfire banging and echoing all around them._

_'Bloody hell!' Bodie said breathlessly. 'Been a while since I've done this. How 'bout you, get any of this as a copper?'_

_'Only carried a gun on the job once. Didn't fire it.'_

_'Christ. You scared?'_

_There was no mocking in Bodie's voice. Doyle nodded without shame._

_'Me too. All the experience in the world won't stop that. Tell you what, mate, if we get out of this, we'll need some female company. I know a couple of girls -- why don't we take 'em out for dinner, eh?'_

_Doyle flashed a grin. 'Yeah, why not?' It seemed so preposterously normal, planning out a dinner date while they dodged bullets. The thought of it lifted his spirits, punched a hole in the fear to allow the adrenaline to rush through._

_No doubt the dinner would have gone ahead, if it hadn't been for the bullet that grazed Doyle's shoulder. He'd never been shot. It didn't even hurt that much, but he felt sick as he looked at the blood, and contemplated the sight of the bullet lodged in the crumbling mortar of the wall behind him._

_Bodie was brilliant. A few quiet words of reassurance, a brief but firm grasp of his hand; then he met Doyle's searching gaze, and somehow knew exactly what to say._

_'D'you want to skip the birds for tonight? Keep it just us?'_

_* * * * *_

That was how it began. No relationship, no complications, just companionship -- just making each other feel good every now and again. They'd never even kissed. 

  
Which was fine … really it was … 

Doyle had been wanting to for quite a while. But it was probably for the best.

Doyle pushed thoughts of Bodie away, tried to force himself to write one more paragraph. But Bodie refused to leave his mind. He sat there, that smug smile on his face, quirking that uneven eyebrow of his, eyes never wavering until Doyle leaned towards him, and the last thing he saw before he closed his own eyes was the sweep of Bodie's lashes as he, too, willingly leaned forward …

'Oi! Daydreaming during lessons again?'

Doyle looked round. Bodie, dressed for an evening out, was coming through the door with a bottle of scotch in his hand. Doyle tried, and failed, to disguise how pleased he was to see him.

'What are _you_  doing here?'

'I was s'posed to take Sarah to the pictures, but she's got flu. Thought I'd bother you. You weren't at your flat and you'd said you didn't have a date, so I assumed you'd still be here.'

'Well, you were right,' Doyle said, through a yawn.

'So who were you thinking about?' Bodie asked, wiggling his eyebrows.

Doyle realised that he was too tired and too hot to be bothered making something up. It had to come out sometime. Tonight was as good a night as any to mess up his life -- or make it a whole lot better. He raised his head slowly, eyes flicking up to meet Bodie's, making sure Bodie couldn't mistake the meaning in his look. 

'What would you think if I said "you"?'

'I'd think your taste was impeccable,' Bodie replied, without skipping a beat. He grinned at Doyle with some of the usual irrepressibleness, but with something added: a fondness he didn't normally let show. 'What would you think if I said Sarah didn't have flu, and I'd just stood her up to come and find you?'

Doyle arched an eyebrow. 'I'd think your taste was impeccable.'

Now or never. He took the plunge. 

'What would you think if I said I wanted to kiss you?'

Again, Bodie seemed barely to react. He perched on the edge of the table and looked down into Doyle's face. Doyle was aware of arching his neck upwards a little, before he could stop himself. But that didn't matter, because Bodie was cupping his chin in one hand, and he wouldn't be doing _that_  if he wasn't willing …

'I'd wonder two things,' Bodie said. 'One, why you didn't just get on with it, and two, why you hadn't done it ages ago.'

'It didn't seem to be what we were about.' Doyle's voice was barely even.

'It wasn't.' Bodie ran his thumb over Doyle's nose and cheek. 'But you want it to be.'

He wasn't being fair. Doyle's sudden danger of melting had nothing to do with the weather, and he was damned if he was going to be the only one. He reached up in return, ran his fingers over Bodie's forehead, the space between his eyes, his left eyebrow, over the side of his face, and into his hair. He watched Bodie's pupils dilate, and felt some satisfaction.

'What about you?' he asked.

'Ray.' The sound of his name was half-sigh, half-admonishment, with clear meaning: it was a ridiculous question, and the exact one Bodie had been waiting to hear. He touched his forehead to Doyle's, and said the most unnecessary, and most wonderful words, that Doyle had heard all … well. _Ever_.

_'I_ want it to be.'

Doyle rose from the chair, joined Bodie on the edge of the desk. He was sitting on his report, but he didn't care. He wondered for a split second who would take the initiative, but they both moved forward at once, and the kiss was as thrilling as their first touch, months ago now, and almost like a whole other relationship. Then Bodie leaned into Doyle, and Doyle leaned back on one hand while the other went around Bodie's shoulders, drawing him in closer …

They both jumped at the snapping noise, and pulled away from each other, frowning. Doyle looked behind him, and grinned wryly. He'd been pushing the pencil against the table's edge, and it had snapped under the pressure.

'I hope that's not an omen, Bodie.'

Hearing Bodie's laughter, muffled against his neck, Doyle felt a jolt in his gut, something not-quite-definable, yet fully and joyously knowable. There was no going back now.


End file.
